


Prose

by HauntedCity



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Awkward Flirting, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Hank Anderson - Freeform, Hank Anderson/Reader - Freeform, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Series of Oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntedCity/pseuds/HauntedCity
Summary: A collection of Hank Anderson/Reader oneshots.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Reader
Kudos: 13





	1. Patience

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to pull together my Hank Anderson/Reader oneshots that I've been posting on tumblr when people request them. Each chapter will be a separate oneshot. Not every one will be explicit, but I've added the warning just in case.
> 
> Chapter 1:  
> Tumblr request: “Can you maybe do a little fluffy but slightly steamy imagine of Reader trying to get some alone time with Hank after taking care of their son so Connor comes to take Sumo and the son on a little play date with Alice and Kara and then reader taking this opportunity to get some with her husband (she's 4 months preggo and has a high libido)."

The waiting was driving you crazy. Don’t take it wrong – you loved afternoons making lunch together: your son’s ridiculous outbursts, watching Hank’s greedy fingers swiping food from the plate to munch on while he waited, Sumo’s constant need for attention. But today was the first day in the last sixteen – yes, _sixteen_ – that you and Hank would get to be alone.

Connor had offered to take your son and Sumo out to meet with Alice and Kara for a little play date. You and Hank jumped at the offer. Connor planned to come pick him up after lunch and you found yourself hurrying to get food ready in time.

“You still want the crust cut off?” you asked.

“Yes, mom!” your son replied, popping a green grape into his mouth and making a face. “This stuff’s gross!” he spit it in his napkin.

“Yeah, I know, but your mom’s trying to set you with good habits, son. You don’t wanna end up like your dad,” Hank grabbed his paunch.

You inhaled sharply at the look of him, fingers gripping his belly, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. You shot him a glance and Hank’s face went from humor to curiosity to a knowing look. You bit your lip, eyes tracing over his body.

Placing the plate in front of your son you watched him waste no time biting into the sandwich, completely ignoring the fruits.

“And for you, big guy?” you eyed Hank.

“Oh, nothin’…” he looked up. “I’ll just have a bit of _you_!” Hank reached out to grab around your waist, pulling you into him and peppering kisses on your neck. You laughed, pressing your forehead against his as he placed a hand on your belly. “What’s this? You’ve brought a _guest_?”

“You’re awful,” you shushed him away.

“What’s that, little one?” Hank leaned down to press his ear to your belly. “You think Daddy should have _chips_?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, humored by the laughter coming from your son; completely egging on Hank’s antics.

“Chips and what else?” you sigh, smiling at your son watching the whole scene play out.

Suddenly Hank sat up, expression blank. “The baby just said ‘chips’. Guess I’ll take the whole bag, baby’s orders…”

Your eyes widened as he scooted the chair back, lifting you off his lap to squeeze passed you to run for the chip bag. Your son’s boisterous laughter got Sumo’s attention and he came in to bark at the two of you running around the kitchen.

“You snot!” you grabbed him around the middle, pressing yourself against him in a rueful attempt at getting the chip bag back. You knew he’d eat the whole thing. “I’ll make you a sub!” you suggested.

“Oh?” his voice was quiet against your ear, voice deep and tantalizing. Your breath caught in your throat. “That would be…interesting…”

His tone made you suddenly see the double entendre he picked up on. You found yourself leaning into him more, a flutter in your core igniting a deep need in you.

The doorbell rang then and your son announced “I’ll get it!” as he took off to greet your guest: Connor more than likely.

“I thought we’d just sleep tonight…put on a movie…but I see that you have _other_ plans, Mrs. Anderson.” You felt the need to clench your thighs together at the deep voice, the seductive way he was speaking to you. Hank kissed your cheek then turned to the living room. “Connor! How are ya?”

You breathed shakily, hand coming to your belly as you glanced down. Lately these pregnancy hormones were overwhelming. Just a few nights ago you’d woken Hank up at 3 am because you _needed_ him.

“Connor’s gonna take me to the park and I get to see Alice!” your son ran back in the room, scarfing down the rest of his sandwich before wiping his face off and dropping the napkin.

He ran to grab his shoes from the foyer.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you asked before he ran toward Connor.

“Oh! Right. Bye mom,” he came over to kiss your cheek. “Bye baby,” he kissed your belly.

You followed him into the living room to greet Connor and hand over Sumo’s harness and leash.

“Y/n, good to see you. You’re absolutely glowing,” he acknowledged.

“Hey, stop flirting with my wife,” Hank teased.

“Kara plans on making dinner for us so we may be back closer to 7. Is…that alright, Mrs. Anderson?”

You nodded. “Thanks for taking them, Connor. Call if they get to be too much and we’ll come get them.”

“I am certain we’ll be fine.” Connor struggled with Sumo’s harness so Hank stepped in to help. Watching his hands work was distracting.

When they were ready, they said their goodbyes and Hank stepped out onto the front porch. He stood there, watching as they made their way down the street. You noticed his forearm flexing as he held onto the open door.

“Hank…” you hummed, excited to be alone.

“Patience…” Hank responded softly, unmoving, and you knew he was fucking with you.

“Hank!” you almost whined, feeling needy. He pretended to be paying attention outside still, a smirk plastered on his face. “Hank Anderson if you don’t get in here right now and-” he cut you off by slamming the door, locking it, taking two long strides toward you, and firmly pressing his mouth to yours. You melted.

“Couldn’t wait any longer, hm?” he chuckled. You shook your head, working on lifting off his shirt. “Shit, babe, take a breath.” You playfully glared before removing his shirt. “Or not.”

He shrugged, smirking as you pulled him toward your bedroom, closing the door out of habit.

Hank had you naked in seconds and you ogled as he fidgeted with his pants. You were practically shaking at how excited you were as he kicked off his pants and climbed on top of you, hand tracing up your bare thigh.

Gasping, you felt his beard on your skin as he kissed your belly then up between your breasts. Your fingers snuck beneath the elastic of his boxers, pulling them down in an awkward movement. He smiled against you, kicking the clothing off.

“God _damn_ , woman…” he groaned before pressing his tip to your wet entrance.

When he filled you completely you wanted to weep. Grasping at his shoulders, you kissed him fervently as he started a slow pace into you.

The afternoon progressed like this, both of you enjoying each other and for once getting to take your time in the bedroom. You napped in between rounds one and two. Post round two, laying there holding each other for a half hour was necessary; his strong, rough hands stroking your shoulder as he clasped your body close to him. The rumble of his voice almost lulled you to sleep as he talked about your son's t-ball game that morning. Once you heard his stomach growl you knew Hank needed to eat or he would never get it up for round three.

Standing in the kitchen wearing one of his Detroit Police shirts you couldn’t help but laugh at the exhausted man leaning in the doorway, boxers hung low on his hips.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Some elaborate scheme you and Connor concocted? He becomes surrogate dad to my children once I croak from too many orgasms? Do you _know_ how old I am?”

You licked dressing off your fingers from the subs you promised you’d make.

“I dunno, big boy, you seem to be handling yourself pretty well.”

He simply stared at you, eyelids heavy, sweet smile on his lips. He looked so handsome happy.

“You really expect more from me?” he pushed off from the wall, lazily coming to the table to sit beside you.

Nodding, you swallowed the first bite of your dinner. “Hour nap and you were ready to go last time. Food’ll do you some good.”

Hank raised a brow at you then shook his head.

“Am I dreaming this or is it really happening?” at his question you just shook your head and bit into the sub again. “You mean I didn’t get dropped into some fuckin’ porno?”

“Most vanilla porno I’ve ever seen,” you commented.

After you ate you realized how tired you actually were. Your knees were sore, your elbows rug burned, yet you still had this hunger for your husband that wasn’t satisfied.

Hank looked up from his last bite, mouth full. You wondered how you got so lucky.

Standing from the table you took both plates to the sink to wash, mind focused on something else for the first time in hours.

When you felt Hank’s arms wrap around you, you smiled. His large hands rest on your bump beneath his Detroit Police shirt. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, rubbing his hands over your bump then up to your breasts. The few quiet moans that left you made Hank groan against your skin, his facial hair adding a nice sensation.

You felt Hank press his hips against you.

“See?” you whipped around when you were done with dishes, drying your hands with the towel before running your fingers down his torso to his hardened dick.

Hank shook his head then moaned at the sensation of your hands on him again. “Miracles do happen, y/n.” his deep chuckle made you feel heated. “We haven’t had this much sex since we were trying for this little one,” he nodded toward your belly. “Now, shall we proceed to the bedroom, m’lady, so we can continue fucking until we’re interrupted?”

You loved his dirty mouth when it was just the two of you.

“Patience,” you joked, quoting him from earlier.

He lightly smacked your ass. “Get yer ass in that bedroom, Mrs. Anderson, or I’ll grab that bag of chips and eat the whole fuckin’ thing.”

Laughing, you kissed him deeply before making your way back to the bedroom to hopefully satisfy your needs until you could be alone again.


	2. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader was turned down for a job and Hank comes to drink away some woes. Things get steamy.

Hank hadn’t heard from you all day and it was really starting to piss him off, mostly because he was _worried_. Worried where your headspace was, fully aware of where it could be. And, damn it, he was scared; scared of losing you too. He’d given you a grand total of four calls in the last hour and none of them were answered.

“You seem to be distracted, lieutenant,” Connor’s voice broke through his thoughts. Hank shot him a look. “I’ve asked you several questions and you have not responded.”

“Jesus, Connor, we closed the case. What other questions can you have?” They were on their way back to the precinct to finish up paperwork.

“My questions pertained to y/n,” Connor corrected. Hank stilled, glanced at him, then back to the road. “Did she get the job?”

Hank sat silent for a moment then let out a quiet, “no.”

Connor gazed curiously at him. “I don’t understand. She was there for seven months.”

“ _Substituting_ for seven months,” Hank corrected. “Apparently that didn’t matter to those assholes. They picked somebody else.”

Connor gazed out the window as the precinct came into view. “Has she contacted you since?”

“No.”

Hank parked, shut the car off, sighed.

“You seem worried about her, lieutenant. You care for her.”

“Shut it, Connor.”

“Your cheeks are reddened, are you fevered?” his hand rose toward Hank’s forehead and was instantly smacked away.

“Quit it,” he grumbled, shoving his way out of the car then slamming the door.

Connor was a few steps behind Hank as he stormed toward the building.

“It is completely understandable that you care for her well-being, Hank, she’s-”

Hank spun on his heels before they went inside, grabbing Connor’s shirt collar in his hands.

“Don’t you dare pretend like you know what’s going on here,” he snapped at Connor. “ _I_ don’t even know what’s going on here…” his grip loosened.

Connor paused, considering what to say. “I can quickly make the report and scan the documents on. You should go to y/n.”

Hank stepped back, considered Connor for a moment. Yeah, go see y/n. He half expected you to slam the door right in his face.

“Alright,” he begrudgingly agreed. “But don’t fuck this up or it’ll be on my ass, ya hear me?”

He bought you a bottle of white wine. He knew it was your favorite because the _one_ work outing you agreed to go to with him you’d ordered a pinot grigio. As he drove, Hank reflected on that night. Gavin had been all over his ass that night, eyeing up his arm candy – clearly surprised that you’d showed up with him. To your defense, he’d practically begged you to go. Everyone else showed up with someone on their arm and he was always the first to leave, the least interested in the social gathering aspect of maintaining a career. It was one of the few nights he actually didn’t hate existing.

Four raps on the door, he paused and shuffled from one foot to the other. Glancing back at his car in your driveway, Hank strongly considered going home to see Sumo, getting some rest.

Yet he knocked again – giving it one more chance. Damn it, he would never drink the wine. Maybe he should just leave it…

The door opened as the thought crossed his mind and Hank suddenly felt entirely uncomfortable.

You stood in the doorway, tiny black shorts on, a tank top…looking completely forlorn.

“Hey…” he spoke cautiously, scratching the back of his neck.

“Come in,” you quietly offered, stepping aside.

Hank noted the empty wine glass on the coffee table, the TV on, box of tissues beside an empty wine bottle.

“I…brought you another,” he handed the wine to you. “I’m sorry about the job.”

Sadness and then anger crossed your face but you took the bottle into the kitchen. Hank slowly followed you, careful to not say the wrong thing.

“I thought I had it, Hank,” you sighed as you grabbed a whiskey glass for him. Your hands fumbled for a bottle.

“I know, y/n. I know. Me too.”

You sigh, completely defeated as you poured him a hefty glass of whiskey. Hank came up from behind you and you hadn’t even realized he’d gone to fetch your empty wine glass from the living room. He knew where your wine opener was, had been over a time or two before to drink away your sorrows together. Some days were just too rough.

You turned to him as he opened your wine and your heart swelled in your chest. Quietly, Hank poured your wine and pushed the glass closer to you. The look he gave you made you want to curl up in his lap: the pitiful eyes, the sad expression.

Your arms wrapped around him before you even registered the thought. Hank stilled at your touch, clearly surprised. He tentatively eased his arms around you, placing his lips to the top of your head.

“I still can’t believe after all this time they didn’t pick me…It hurts,” you sobbed, letting the emotion fall from you in waves. “They dicked me, Hank.”

You felt him nod against the top of your head, running his hands up and down the length of your back.

“They’re fuckin’ idiots. They’ll be sorry.”

Your hands balled into fists against the back of his shirt and you felt so frustrated with yourself for crying in front of him. Your coworkers had made it seem like you’d had the job – like it was a given – you’d worked there for seven months, put in your best effort, and now here you were with nothing to show for it.

You pulled away as quickly as you’d latched onto him. It was embarrassing to have him see you like this.

“I’m surprised you’re here, Hank, I know how much you like to go home after work.” You tried to change the subject.

Hank nodded as he picked up the whiskey you poured him and followed you into the living room.

“Actually, Connor kinda…uh…suggested I come.” Hank stumbled over his words. You couldn’t help but smirk at that. Of course he did. Who else could push Hank in such a way? “Besides, I took my lunch break at home so I could take care of Sumo.”

The two of you settled on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels until something caught your eye. Honestly, you wanted to get your mind off the day but it kept drifting back to the betrayal you felt. You’d given your heart and soul to this job in hopes that it would produce something for you and instead when it came down to the final interview: you and someone else, they chose someone else.

A sigh left your lips and you noticed Hank glance your way, mouth a hard line. Your eyes looked hollow he noticed and he took a long gulp of his whiskey, trying to burn away the nervousness he felt around you.

Soon your wine glass was almost empty and Hank started to stand up to get the bottle but your hands pulled him back down.

“Y/n, what-”

You buried your head in his shoulder and snuggled up to him unabashedly. Hank stilled, breath caught in his throat. The wonderful warmth he offered was such a comfort to you and you placed your hand on the center of his chest, closing your eyes.

Slowly, he moved his arm above you on the couch to make it more comfortable for the both of you. He hummed softly and the rumble of his chest made you blush.

“Tell me about your day,” you suggested.

Hank paused, realizing that you were just trying to distract yourself.

He chuckled. “Not much to tell. Connor being annoying as shit, putting shit in his mouth. Greasy lunch. A homicide. Same old.”

You laughed quietly at that, imagining the comical scene of Hank rushing over to scold the android for tasting things at the crime scene, as you’d heard happened frequently.

“Still not used to it?” you asked, absentmindedly playing with his shirt.

Hank grumbled. “Nope. Never will be. Weird fucker…”

Another laugh sounded and Hank was thrilled that he could bring joy into this day for you. Feeling you pressed against his body made him very aware of how right this felt, but he said nothing.

“Thanks for staying with me, Hank. I’m glad I’m not alone tonight.”

“Me too.”

You quietly considered your options: stay there or pull away. Being wrapped in his arms was the best form of comfort you’d found all day: beyond the wine and the few others friends you contacted there was something about Hank’s _being_ that made things a little less gloomy.

You decided to stay like that a little longer, until Hank couldn’t take it anymore. When his fingers started tracing circles on your arm, you began to wonder if this was comfortable to him too.

And then you glanced up at him from under your eyelashes. At your movement, he broke gaze from the TV to look at you.

It felt like it happened in slow-motion. One second you were admiring how handsome he was and the next you had your mouth pressed to his.

He let out a surprised noise before easing into the kiss, pulling you in closer to him. He tasted like whiskey and it was an interesting mix with the wine taste on your tongue. You craved the distraction, was grateful for him for so many things in your odd friendship. The crush had been there for a while now – festering – waiting until the right moment. Apparently the right moment was the night you lost a potential job…

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying between kisses. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “You’ve _no idea_ how long I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout that…”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks. “R-really?”

Hank nodded slowly, looking bashful for a few seconds.

“Look, I feed you wine and you’re _all over me_!” he joked. At his comment, you pushed his shoulder in humored frustration.

“I’ll show you ‘ _all over’_!” you called as you pulled yourself up into a straddling position on his lap.

Hank looked dumbfounded by the turn of events and you noticed the pinkness to his cheeks intensify. As much as he’d like to act confident you were sure his heart was hammering in his chest – you knew him too well to expect anything less from him.

“You better watch it, y/n…” he groaned, taking in the look of you on his lap like this. You swore he was trying to pull his hips back. Your mind wandered…

“Or what?” you said lowly, giving him a fiery look.

“Don’t tempt me, woman…” he dropped his voice low too and you shivered at the sound.

“But, Hank, I wanna!” you fake pouted.

Hank leaned in and kissed you deeply, placing a hand behind your head.

An alarm went off and you jumped at the sound, pulling away with a gasp.

“Shit…” Hank grumbled as he fished in his pocket for his phone. His eyes squinted when he looked at the bright phone. “Aw, _great_ …Sumo.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah…Connor put an alarm on this stupid thing so I know when to feed Sumo.”

“Oh…” your voice trailed off at the thought of him leaving soon. It _was_ probably getting late.

Hank tossed his phone to the couch and pulled you into him again, kissing you deeper than he’d done all night. You felt the need, the heat…

You definitely felt him hard beneath you when you pushed him down on the couch and it floored you – the perfect distraction.

Your little make out session continued with you being straightforward, slowly unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt and kissing your way down his chest. Hank’s breath hitched, his mind wandering to where your mouth was headed.

_Oh, fuck_ …

As you were on the final button of his shirt, your lips hovering just above the button of his jeans another alarm went off on his phone.

“Oh, God _damn it!_ ” he cussed, fumbling for the phone which had fallen to the floor.

You smirked against his skin, glancing up at the flustered expression on his face. Biting your lip, you smiled at him when he shot you an exasperated look.

“Everything alright over there?”

Hank growled at that, throwing his head back against the pillow beneath him.

“Damn it…” he sighed, seeming to consider something. “Come over,” he blurted, instantly feeling ridiculous for doing so.

“W-what?!”

“I can’t leave Sumo alone. Just…come over,” he bit his lower lip as he looked at you. “Please.”

It took you no time to agree.

What a perfect distraction.


	3. Cringe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack fic   
> Tumblr request: "Fic idea for Hank: the reader reminding Hank of stupid Millennials shit. Like the reader sending him old memes, saying dumb vines, texting him to send nudes. It goes to far when she gets Connor to ask him what team he was in for PokemonGo or some shit like that. Is it dumb and ridiculous? Yes it is. Do I have shame? No.”

Hank had agreed to meet you at the bar after work one Thursday night. It’d been a pretty okay week, but he figured you needed a night away since you’d asked. Connor tagged along because Hank didn’t feel like driving him home just to come back out.

You’d been there for a good hour before Hank arrived. The bartender had passed a drink your way when you were halfway through your first, knowing that you were in it for the long haul.

Whenever the door behind you would open, you’d glance back to see if it was Hank and Connor. They would be late – they were always late.

You were a little tipsy; done with drink two, ordering your third, when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning, you saw your long-awaited friends and enveloped them both in big hugs.

Hank noticed the glossiness to your eyes, wondering if you were already drunk.

“Take a seat!” you motioned around you but then noticed how crowded it was. “Oh…”

The bartender leaned over with your drink and pointed at Hank. “The usual?” he asked.

“Yep. Thanks.” Hank glanced at your drink. “What is that garbage?”

“Long Island,” you announced, pushing it toward him so he could take a sip. He did and nodded, _not too bad_.

When Hank’s drink came, you told the bartender to put it on your tab.

“Oh God…” Hank mumbled. You quickly looked at him, wondering if his drink wasn’t good. “This song…” he pointed to the speaker above you.

It was then that you noticed Rick Astley’s _Never Gonna Give You Up_.

You almost spit out your drink. “Oh my God!” you laughed. “Don’t you miss getting Rick rolled?”

“Not really.”

“Rick rolled?” Connor asked.

You laughed again, feeling your drinks. “Back when we were young. It was an internet thing.” Connor blinked and you assumed he was processing things.

Hank grumbled. “C’mon, I ain’t standing here. Let’s get a booth.”

Your mind was wandering to the good old days and you couldn’t help but think back to some other wonders of the internet: memes.

“Do you know de wey?” you spoke close to his ear.

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” he shooed you off.

“You know you miss it!” you grabbed your drink and took off after him. Connor was very quiet as you sat down.

“I understand it now,” Connor finally said. “You expected a different video and continuously found this music video instead.”

Hank blinked at him, mouth hung open. He shook his head. “Oh, God…I can’t believe this is happening.”

You were cackling at this point, way too entertained. He downed his drink quickly so you went to order something else for him, your mind working in overdrive. When you came back, you handed him a Labatt Blue.

“I got some blue,” you offered.

Hank’s nostrils flared. You waved the bottle in front of him and sat down beside Connor.

“I swear, y/n, you’re over the top.”

Connor looked contemplative. “You guys are Millennials, right?” You felt bad that Connor was trying to keep up and you were sure he was trying to research just what you were talking about.

“Yeet,” you nodded.

Hank pressed his hands to his face, cussing behind his fingers.

“I’m guessing these are all references,” Connor hummed.

“Yes, and they’re all awful,” Hank grumbled.

You picked up your drink, raising an eyebrow. “You’re just trying to hide your humor because it makes you realize that we’re getting old. But that’s none of my business…” you sipped your drink.

This irked Hank and he shot you another glare.

“I searched this and there is a picture of a coffee lizard…?” Connor questioned.

“It’s a frog drinking _tea_ ,” Hank droned. “Ah, God _damn it_ , y/n!”

“It’s like riding a bike: they’re all coming back from the pits of Hell.” You covered your face in embarrassment. “Hey there demons, it’s me, ya boi.”

You watched Hank reach across the table toward you to cover your mouth but you leaned back. His sleeve caught the bottle in front of him and it tipped, spilling some beer on the table.

“Ah, fuck, I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

Rolling his eyes, Hank stood to get napkins. “You’re ridiculous.”

You gasped at him and he turned back to glance at you.

“Dat ass,” you winked.

“Oh my God!” Hank kind of huffed a laugh at this. “Y/n why? Why?”

You laughed, waving him off and sipping your drink while he went to go get napkins.

After he came back it was quiet for a few minutes. “That all feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It really does,” you sighed sadly.

“In my searching, I came across something about Pokémon Go,” Connor started. Hank cussed again, hitting his head down on the table. “Lieutenant Anderson, what team were you on?”

“I don’t fuckin’ remember,” Hank groaned. “You stupid fuckin’ android, stop egging y/n on.”

By now Connor was smirking at the laughter this caused you. Your sides hurt. You and Hank always loved poking fun at each other. A few minutes passed and someone approached your table. Glancing up you noticed Amy, a woman you recognized from the last time you came to this bar.

“Up to being my partner in another game?” she motioned toward the pool table.

You glanced at Hank, knowing that you were meant to be there with him.

“Go ahead,” he nodded, sipping his beer.

“Sorry to pull you away from your friend,” Amy said as you went to get a stick. “I was stood up tonight and didn’t know anyone else.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’m sure he’s glad to be away from me. I was annoying him tonight,” you laughed as you said this and she gave you a look. “I kept being super cringey and referencing memes.”

Amy stopped dead. “Oh! Those are my favorite!” she proceeded to do the Orange Justice dance.

“Your turn!” the others playing pool called you over. You walked away to break.

•••

The game was halfway through when you realized you’d left your drink by the boys. Quickly, you ran over to them.

Hank couldn’t help but cringe as you approached, worried that you were going to have another dumb meme to bring forward.

You winked at him as you grabbed your glass and strutted back to the pool table where you and Amy continued your conversation.

Hank’s phone went off and he glanced down at it.

Y/n. **1 new message:**

_Send nudes._

“Ah, fuck…” Hank slammed his drink down on the table. “Y/n!” he called over the cacophony of the bar. “That’s it. We’re leaving!” a small smile tugged at his lips as you ran over to him.


	4. Dork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request: "hank x male reader ?? like hank and them just. happy and kissing while standing in the living room. everything is soft and full of love"

“You don’t want any, do you?” Hank held up a bag of popcorn, distracting you from the movie for a moment.

“Actually I would,” you replied, knowing that Hank always hated sharing his popcorn.

He gave you a playful glare and then ducked back into the kitchen. You laughed, shaking your head at the man before returning your attention back to the movie that was on.

You could hear the microwave start up and before you knew it Hank was in front of you, hands across his chest, staring down at you and completely blocking the TV.

“You smug thing,” Hank’s deep voice made you raise an eyebrow at him, hearing the little playful lilt.

“You’re blocking the screen,” you bit right back, just as playful.

“Oh yeah?” he lowered himself toward you, never breaking gaze. “Y/n, _this_ is the only thing you should be lookin’ at…” he motioned toward his body.

You found yourself leaning forward, heart racing just before he gripped you by the back of the head and pulled you into him, lips finally meeting.

You let out a sigh between kisses, his facial hair brushing up against your skin. Your fingers gently moved to his hair and he let out a breathy moan.

The microwave went off just then.

“Hold that thought,” Hank pulled back and stood, taking long strides into the kitchen.

You smiled to yourself when he was out of eyeshot, shifting slightly at the feeling of arousal bubbling in your abdomen. Hank got you. He always knew just what you wanted out of the evening: popcorn, a movie, and some kissing were just what you’d hoped for.

When Hank returned, he started tossing popcorn into his mouth and trying to catch it mid-air.

“How old are you?” you jokingly asked.

“Don’t be a wet noodle,” he tossed a piece your way and thus began a popcorn fight that ended with you on top of him on the couch.

Hank rubbed the popcorn butter on your face and looked smugly up at you.

You couldn’t help the feeling in your chest, the bubble of pure joy the lieutenant brought into your world.

You lowered your forehead down onto his and closed your eyes, smiling softly.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Yes, but I’m _your_ dork,” was his rebuttal.

The thought of your clothes in a drawer in his room, your toothbrush in a holder next to his, your whole _life_ leading up to a moment like this with him…it was almost too much to comprehend.

“Yes, _my_ dork.”

You kissed him again.


	5. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request: “Hank Anderson x reader request where Hank gets a call from reader asking him to pick them up. They’re in tears for some reason. I don’t why or don’t care why but I just want some caring Hank with hurt-comfort feels. If that’s okay and peaks your interest?”

Fourteen hours. A fourteen- _fucking_ -hour long shift.

Holy shit did he need a stiff drink and a long rest.

Hank’s drive made him even more tired so he opened all the windows and turned up the music. It was bright out, one of those rare sunny days that remind you of childhood and spending all your time outside. A weird sort of longing lodged itself in his chest.

With the music so loud, he almost missed the phone call he was getting.

Fishing in his pants pocket, he pulled out the buzzing thing, turned the radio down, and answered.

“Yeah?” he cursed himself for failing to look at the caller ID.

“Hank…”

“Y/N? Hey…what’s…” he could hear the sadness in your voice. “Are you _crying_?”

“No,” you said in a pitiful voice, trying to hide it.

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, kid. What happened?”

A long pause. “Can you…are you working? I’m just…struggling right now.”

“No, I’m…” he sighed. “No, Y/N, I’m off now. What do you-”

“Can you come pick me up?” this part came out rushed and Hank could tell you were hesitant to even be asking. “Please?” you added.

Hank was two streets away from his house, but he could tell by the fact that you were even _asking_ : you needed someone.

The exhaustion was really weighing on him, but how many times had you picked him up on his rough days? He _owed_ you, there was no denying that.

“Yeah, sure. You at home?”

“I am.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

You were sitting on the front porch when he pulled up, your elbows resting on your knees, body hunched forward, looking at the ground. He gave it a second, realized you were in your head, and threw the car in park.

He didn’t even shut it off, just flipped off the asshole who almost hit him as he exited the car. At the horn honk, you gazed up to see him and a wave of relief flooded you.

“Hank,” you choked out on your way to meet him in the front yard.

Without hesitation, he quickly enveloped you in his strong arms and that’s when the tears really started flowing. You buried your face in his chest, fingers gripping onto his jacket.

And he held you.

Strong and stable, standing in the front yard, ignoring the looks of the neighbors watering their flowers or cutting their lawn. In that moment, all he knew you needed was comfort.

His hands gently rubbed up and down the length of your back. He eventually got daring enough to kiss the top of your head, holding his mouth there for a second longer than he probably should have, but you didn’t shift out of his grasp.

Your breathing eventually returned to normal, and your grip on him loosened just slightly, a tell that Hank recognized as you calming the slightest bit.

Yet he still gave you time, didn’t rush you or try to usher you into the car, didn’t ask you any questions, or expect anything from the moment.

“It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart,” he hummed, his deep voice rumbling against your ear pressed to his chest.

You latched onto that sentiment, closed your eyes and focused to try and memorize the way the words sounded coming from him; hoping you could pull back to them when you needed them next.

“Thank you, Hank,” you whispered.

He nodded against the top of your head, holding back a yawn.

“Yanno, kid,” you kinda liked when he called you that. “I’m _tired_ …”

You pulled back finally, eyes slightly bloodshot, kinda swollen from the crying. You looked at him, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the half-lidded gaze.

“Oh my God, Hank, I’m so sorry…did you just get off work now?” you found yourself saying, putting your own woes aside for a second.

Hank nodded slowly. “Fourteen hours. I’m beat.”

“Sor-” he cut you off, pressing a finger to your lips.

“Not a problem. You’ve got me, you know I’ve got you,” he hummed. “Now, whatta’ya say we swing back to my place, you can drink my booze, hang with Sumo, and we can turn on a movie?”

You hadn’t felt like smiling all day and just that simple statement made you feel ten times lighter. Nodding, you followed Hank to his car.

It wasn’t long before you were back at his place doing exactly what he’d suggested: alcohol on the coffee table, Sumo resting his head in your lap as you sat on the couch beside Hank who’d thrown a blanket over the two of you.

A low moan left Hank’s mouth as he draped his arm over the back of the couch, picking a movie for the two of you.

Sumo never got enough of the attention you were willing to give, but soon the quiet in the house made the large dog find his bed and sleep.

“Do ya mind if I…” Hank yawned before he could finish his sentence.

You smiled. “Sleep, Hank.”

He ignored you, giving you the side-eye. “You feelin’ better?”

Shrugging, you leaned forward to reach for your drink and take a sip.

“Just a bad day.”

Setting the glass down, you leaned back against the comfortable couch and felt Hank’s large hand grasp your shoulder. Suddenly, he pulled you into his chest, shifting slightly to make it more comfortable for the two of you.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as he did this but it wasn’t _awful_.

“I know ya won’t _ask_ for this so just relax already.”

He knew you needed the comfort; knew you were desperate for it since you’d even called him. It was clear that whatever was bugging you was still bouncing around in that head of yours and he knew that sometimes all you could do was _rest_.

Leaning into it, you let your walls down and smiled softly against his shirt.

Distracted by the movie, you were actually able to forget your worries for a little bit.

“Hey, Hank-” you lifted your head up to gaze at him and ask a question regarding the movie.

“Hm? Yeah?” he jumped a little, clearly having been dozing.

You smiled to yourself, looking around the room at the sunbeams stretching across the living room floor, aware of the quiet that had settled in your head.

“Thank you again,” you decided to speak instead.

“Mmm, yeah, sure thing.” Hank’s voice was deep, laced with sleep. His hand ran gently up and down your arm. “Wanna order takeout soon?”

That smile didn’t leave your face.

“I’d like that.”


	6. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Infertility, mentions of alcoholism, mental health struggles, and (a history of) self-harm.
> 
> This one is purely a twist of a page from my own diary.  
> I’ve had some requests for pregnant!reader and Hank and...I just can’t do that right now. My husband and I have been struggling with infertility for over a year and I had a miscarriage last year.
> 
> This is purely a therapeutic attempt at getting through this for me.

Hank hears a slam from somewhere in the house and he’s instantly peeking around the corner, down the hall, warm pizza long forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Y/N? You alright?” he calls. No response. “Y/N?” His mind is instantly working quickly, running through possibility after possibility of the worst _shit_.

You’d been going through it lately, your mental health at an all-time low for the last few months. It drove you to do some crazy shit and he was always there to pick up your pieces. He worried you’d resort to some of those old coping habits he knew you had. You’d told him you hadn’t done that in years, but it was still a very real possibility to him and it kept him up at night, the image of you bleeding out.

Tonight, he thought you were doing better. You’d been working on getting answers for what was bothering you…you’d spent a lot of time working through things together and – though the touchy-feely stuff was a little hard for Hank to vocalize – you were in a better place than you’d been in, well, _ever_.

“I’m fine,” you finally call to him, but he can hear in your voice that you’re so _not_ fine.

“Sweetheart, come on, what is it?”

He peers into the bedroom, sees your phone face-down on the nightstand, your body on the bed, back to the headboard, knees pressed against your chest.

“It happened again,” you start, voice breaking a little bit. This could be one of two things, he knows.

Either another friend is pregnant or your period showed up.

Hank _knows_ it’s not the latter, based on the positive ovulation test on the sink, the fact that you’ve been _all over him_ for the last few days…

"Fuck, sweetheart…”

You shake your head, shake it off, try to take a breath.

“I feel like such an asshole, yanno? I’m happy for her, I really am, but I’m so _fucking_ tired of it not being us. It’s been a _year_ , Hank, a fucking _year_ …”

He knows this, is very aware. He knows because you’ve been to the specialist, done the ten vials of bloodwork, the ultrasound up the cooch, the follow-up. Hell, he’d even done the jizz-in-a-cup thing just because he knew how much this _broke_ you that you weren’t a mom yet.

He can remember the anxiety for those results, remember what it felt like to think it was him. He’d been _convinced_ it was him. Hank hadn’t really thought about having another kid after Cole…and then he met you. Young, _you_ , and that almost scared him off – the knowing that you were gonna want kids.

Hank was a drinker, for years, still is – only now he has someone to hold him through the night and that makes the drinking a little less necessary, makes life a little more bearable.

Only the results showed that his swimmers were still good. And your results showed that your stuff was all good…so, what the fuck?

He remembers holding your hand in that office as the doctor told you news, remembers your sleepless nights up filled with guilt, for whatever reason. If there was something wrong, it was nothing to feel _guilty_ for, yet he couldn’t talk you down from that.

The doctor rambled about how some healthy couples can try for a year with no success, have nothing wrong with them…twenty percent. Twenty-fucking-percent of couples and apparently you fell right into that group.

The agony this caused you, on top of everything else you’d been through. That year consisted of monthly breakdowns in the bathroom when the bleeding started. You’d been through your share of symptom-checking, so convinced you’d been pregnant that month – you’re not normally queasy, you’re not normally _late_ – yet Aunt Flo always reared her stupid, fucking head and each month he’d have to hold his girl and reassure you that eventually you’ll be carrying a child, things _would_ work out…

Hell, there were months you both went sober – just in case that might help. Only it didn’t, it only made the both of you more anxious, made the constant sex almost a chore, drove you both into arguments and bullshit…

It was only recently that you sat at that kitchen table wearing his police shirt, going on about how you needed to live a little, how you needed to learn to let time do its thing. In theory? Great idea! In practice? There were so many fucking roadblocks to that happiness.

Including when your friends post on social media that – surprise! – they’re expecting!

It’s always like a gut-punch, always feels like falling and _anger_ and guilt and _‘how-dare-I-feel-this-way-it’s-not-their-fault_ ’ yet each month you watch them update with pictures of pregnant bellies and then eventually they post that the baby has arrived. Not to mention the monthly updates from everyone about what their little bundle is into and what things they can do and milestones reached, first steps, first words, pregnancy announcement number two…

You’d been through it all and honestly Hank just wished you’d quit the social media bullshit, cut it out, and focus on the two of you and Sumo.

And then your brother’s wife got pregnant at month one and, fuck, did that send you spiraling. Day drinking, driving drunk, crying all the time. Hank didn’t know if you’d ever get out of the funk.

Yet somehow you did. You were so damn _strong_ , he was excited for that piece of you to grow with a baby, couldn’t wait to see what that child could become, hoped it took more of your traits and none of his.

At first, he was tentative about a child. After Cole, he couldn’t imagine the amount of anxiety he would have. But he knew how much you wanted it, how excited you were every time you went down the baby aisle at the store…

Now all you do is cry, avoid that aisle, look away.

You’d gotten through your sister-in-law’s baby shower just fine and now that the baby’s here and you’re seeing your parents step up as first-time grandparents…that hurt is real and raw.

And it’s not their fault, you know that, and you don’t hold resentment. You do avoid, though. Avoid calling, avoid social gatherings with the family. The shame you feel for not being a mom is something Hank can’t understand as a man, he just can’t. You told him once that it makes you feel like less of a woman and that shook him to the fucking core.

What kind of society puts this kind of pressure on the ‘natural progression of life’? How many people had asked about her getting pregnant, making assumptions that you weren’t trying, that you weren’t having issues.

“How did you let your sister-in-law get pregnant before you? You and Hank have been married longer, he’s _old!_ ” -the words of an actual family-friend. What a mess. How fucking painful for you to go through. He remembers that night vividly, remembers you walking him out because he was about to fight someone, remembers the way your tears looked as you paced in the parking lot, wondered how you were gonna go in and face everyone.

People suck, that’s for sure, and this is no different. People don’t understand and no one talks about infertility, you’re realizing. No one talks about the shame of it, the pain, the emotional devastation, what it fucking does to a happy marriage…

The two of you have come through stronger and you’re on a more positive, upbeat path but you still have your down days and Hank is very aware that you haven’t had one in about three weeks…

“Maybe we should start the adoption process,” you mumble with a sigh as he sits beside you, the bed dipping under his weight.

Only he knows you, he knows that you want to carry a baby, knows that there are options…like adopting an embryo…you’d researched your heart out. Researched about proper positions, different tricks, supplements, spent so much money on ovulation kits and doctor visits and pregnancy tests…

“I’m for it if that’s what you want, if you’re ready for that…” he rubs your shoulder.

You sigh, bury your face in his chest.

“I’m just so tired of waiting. I’m so tired of trying and getting hopeful and then bleeding. I’m tired of hearing from my parents that it’ll happen. I sort of wish something was wrong because then we could intervene. But now, what, we wait longer? It’s just bad luck? I’m fucking done with being told to wait and be patient, and that I’m too stressed. I’m pissed that people can have unhealthy habits or try for a month and get pregnant no issue while we have been doing our best to be better and this has been a full _fucking_ year. Hank, we could have a three-month-old right now…right now! Holding a three-month-old. What the fuck?” you let a few tears slip by.

“I’m right here with you. I’ve seen how hard this has been on you. You’re stronger than anyone I know, baby.” He kisses your temple, rubs up and down your back. “You’re gonna be a great mom. And it’s gonna happen. No matter what I have to do, I’m gonna make you a mom.”

He doesn’t care how much money it’s going to cost; he needs to see you happy again. He misses it. You were so full of life once, you’re like a wilted flower now.

“You’ve been great with all this, Hank. Thank you.” You kiss him, lean into it more and Hank feels that spark, feels his arousal start up again.

“Fuck,” he sighs, “I know what you want,” his fingers dance across your neck. “How ‘bout we eat some pizza,” he kisses you, “and then,” another kiss, “we come back in here,” a kiss to your neck, “bring the whipped cream,” you smirk at that, “and _enjoy_ each other.”

You hum. “That sounds _so_ good right now, Hank…”

He nods. “Gonna run me dry by the end of this week,” he stands with you to head to the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, big man.” You smack him on the ass.

So maybe your life isn’t _perfect_ , but it’s yours.


	7. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request:  
> “Can you please write some jealous!hank x reader?”  
> (I tried to keep this as gender neutral as I could, sorry if there are mistakes!)

Hank Anderson should not be one to judge about public intoxication – and he was not judging. He was _worried_. This was so not like you.

Connor had been the one you called and that _stung._ He tried his best to swallow down that jealousy, he really did, but he was so hopeful to come in and play the hero for you. There was something about you that just made him want to play protector, but he knew you’d hate that.

Yet you still called Connor when you got drunk tonight and it was obviously not a call to Hank. Whatever the Hell that meant. What you and Connor had was a _friendship_ and he needed to let that go.

“Hank, they’re at Crazy Matt’s,” Connor’s voice interrupted him as he grabbed his keys from his desk, shouldered on his coat.

“Glad they answered for you,” was Hank’s only response.

“That didn’t happen. Location services are still on their phone. I…noticed from the social media post that was made.”

“Great detective work. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go get my ass handed to me by your bff.”

Connor had a date tonight and Hank couldn’t help but wonder if your outburst was due to that little fact. Naturally, Hank’s only date was with a bottle when he got home so Connor called in a favor. Of course, he was glad to do it – the three of you were pretty inseparable after you’d met.

So here he was speeding toward Crazy Matt’s to pick you up. Too fuckin’ bad, you didn’t want company. Pain in the ass…

In the small parking lot, he noticed your car wasn’t there and he was _instantly_ cussing because – damn it – if you dipped to another bar, he was going to have to chase you around this city all fuckin’ night.

He slammed the car door harder than necessary and stormed his way toward the entrance. Crazy Matt’s was a pretty seedy place and he hated that you went there. Apparently, you knew the owner or some shit.

Eyes scanning around the bar, he grumbled to himself.

“Can I get ya somethin’?” the dark-haired man behind the counter greeted him.

Hank ignored his interest in what was on tap. “Do you know Y/N?”

The idiot let his expression change, yet responded, “Who wants to know?”

“Look, it’s been a long night, and I’m a _friend_ ,” the term stung something in him and the thought he’d like to drown in alcohol. “I just need to know they’re okay.”

He nodded. “Saw them go out back a few minutes ago. Left their drink so I’m sure they’ll be back.”

Hank tapped the bar, nodding in thanks as he glanced at what you’d been drinking.

There was a lot to be said about Hank, but he was not a patient man. A few seconds and he was back outside, glancing down the side alley.

What, had you gone to hook up with somebody? Fuckin’ a…

The sight shocked him.

“Y/N!?” he jogged over because it was all he could muster.

You stopped momentarily, looking breathless and disheveled and…damn it, _alluring_. But his eyes were instantly on your bleeding knees.

“What the _fuck_ happened?” he almost pulled out his gun just in case something was amiss.

You waved him off, patting him on the shoulder and he stilled at the touch. “Guess I’m not great at running while inebriated,” you answered simply.

“And you were running because…?” during his question, you held his shoulder, balancing so you can pull off your shoe and get the gravel out.

He wanted to wrap his arms around you but instead he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Some jackass stole my wallet,” you waved it in front of you, clearly having gotten it back. You weren’t too flustered but the blood was dripping down your knees and it kinda stung.

You stumbled a little when getting the shoe back on and he was forced to hold you upright, your shirt having slid up just the slightest and his thumb pressed against your bare skin. Hank inhaled sharply, moving his finger as soon as he noticed.

“I’m taking you home,” he responded gruffly.

“Fuck off,” you pushed your hand against his chest but it did nothing to move the big man. “I’m not going home.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, you’re bleedin’ all over the place. I’m leaving and you’re coming with me.”

“No,” you pulled from his grasp, stumbled a little, still feeling your drinks. He caught you and his grip was surprisingly soft considering his voice was gruff. “Hank,” you muttered, grabbing onto his jacket and sliding your hands up to the collar. You watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed hard. “I’m going in to finish my drink.”

“The drink on the bar?” he managed to question. At that, you nodded. “Yeah, no you’re not.”

“Hank!” you were about to debate with him when he interrupted you.

“-Be pretty stupid ‘a you to leave a drink unoccupied for so long then down it. You know better than that.”

You smiled at that; glad he wasn’t arguing with you for once.

“Then buy me another one, Lieutenant. Let’s enjoy the night.”

Your tone of voice stirred something in Hank and he struggled to speak something coherent for a moment, his mind traveling to some impure thoughts.

“Yeah, sure.”

•••

Hank _needed_ a drink, but didn’t expect to have one at a seedy bar tonight. He’d bought a bottle and was ready to tell everyone else to fuck off on this Friday night, but the change of plan wasn’t _terrible_.

The anxiety he felt at the moment was overwhelming. It wasn’t often that the two of you were alone, Connor playing a big part in the times you spent together and you both were very aware of that. But you’d become fast acquaintances and he’d grown to enjoy your company.

“Thought you were goin’ to clean up,” he nodded at you as you stayed right beside him at the bar.

“Eh, sure, I will. They got a deal goin’ on tonight,” you wriggled your eyebrows.

“Oh yeah?”

“Two shots for the price ‘a one.”

“ _Shots_?” he repeated.

“Yeah. So…you’re my whiskey guy, aren’t ya?” you nodded at the bartender and ordered some.

“Christ…” he muttered, wiping a hand down his beard.

“Aw, come _on_ , Hank, I know you’re always drinking alone. Live a little,” you gripped onto his jacket again, looking up at him with those _eyes_ and, fuck, was he done for.

“Fine,” he grunted when the glasses come. You clinked the glass with him, smirked, then both slammed back two shots.

The burn was so welcomed right now, he needed something to rid his clouded mind.

“How about you get us another drink?” you sauntered off to the bathroom to wipe off your bloody legs.

And, fuck, what was he doing? He knew you and Connor would go out sometimes, knew the boy wonder didn’t drink with you and you’d sometimes make a comment that Hank should join. He avoided it. Because it was you. Because he knew what he would be like with alcohol around you and, damn it, he couldn’t let his guard down because he’d end up saying something stupid and chasing you off and the three of you would stop spending time together. Not to mention you’d end up doing just what you did tonight – calling _Connor_ over him.

By the time he watched you wander back out of the bathroom, he was halfway done with his drink and had ordered another.

That Matt guy had stopped you and you were chatting with him, laughing at something he said. He knew you two knew each other, but how well and…well, _how_? Guy seemed kinda seedy, just like the bar.

Not to mention, he started _touching you_ – hand on your shoulder, the two of you started walking toward the bar – and he slung his arm around your neck, kissed your temple, smiling the whole time.

You didn’t seem to _mind_ , but that made Hank mind even more. What the Hell was he _doing_ here? He’d told Connor he would come pick you up, not sit here and watch you find someone to hook up with.

Only you found the table he’d grabbed for you, came back with another round of shots.

“On the house, apparently,” you shrugged. He took one. “Oh, no, you get both. Any more, I’ll be on the floor.”

Hank could handle his booze pretty well, sure. Only he hadn’t really eaten today and the _speed_ that the two of you were drinking…he was buzzed already.

“I need food,” you voiced, reading his mind. “Split a burger and fries with me?”

Hank swallowed back the last shot. “Sure, yeah.” You grabbed a waitress, ordered something. He felt a little loose, a little less anxious. “So, Connor’s date tonight…”

You smiled. “Oh, yeah, how do you think that’s gonna go?”

He’d meant to cast that line, hook you in, pick your brain, but you gave him no indication of discomfort.

“You first.”

You sipped your drink. “I think it’s good he’s getting out there. Proud of him for acting on his feelings, yanno?”

Hank nodded at that, contemplative. “You have anything to do with him finding the courage to ask them out?” _That_ would tell him…

You smiled shyly. “Perhaps. Why, Lieutenant, did you miss your opportunity?”

Hank chuckled at that. “Fuck no. Plastic prick…” he trailed off. “So, what’s got you all fucked up tonight?” he blurted and then, “shit, I’m sorry. That, uh, that voicemail to Connor…”

You were surprised by that, though you knew he was blunt. “No, it’s fine. I…just long week. Stupid shit at work, tired of biting my tongue when people wrong me. Just…felt like I needed a night to be in my feelings.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m just really fucking dull, aren’t I?”

“Hank…why…” you looked concerned for a second. “why do you say that?”

Maybe it was the shots talking or the kindness you showed him, but he admitted, “Thought you…maybe had feelings for the kid.”

“What!?” you almost spit out your drink. “Hank, he…he’s like a brother to me, that’s pretty fucked.” You laughed and he was glad he hadn’t pissed you off, seen your fire. He knew it was there.

“Ah, _I’m_ fucked so don’t act too surprised.” He downed the rest of his drink.

“Cheers to that,” you clinked your glass with his and drank.

“You come here often?”

“What is that, some shitty pickup line?” you laughed and he noticed your eyes flash to his mouth.

“Well, no, just…curious. What’s up with the owner?” he couldn’t help but ask.

You leveled your gaze with his. “Hank,” you started to which he hummed, acted casual. “I’m sensing a pattern here. You worried? Competition?”

“Wh-what?”

You winked at him. “You got nothin’ to worry about, old man. We just gotta leave before…” you glanced at the bar, expression changing.

“Before…?” his slightly-more-than-buzzed mind was slow to the take, that and the flirtatious air about the conversation was giving him some ideas, stirrings in his gut…

“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” you mumbled with a sigh. “They…uh…do this thing…” you started looking under the table and Hank was slow to the take, pressing his arm over his lap as your eyes scanned down there.

“What the fuck?” he felt his cheeks heating up. “Y/N?” Seconds later, you pulled a pink sticker out from under the table. “What the _fuck_?” he repeated.

“Oh, _God_ …”

A voice came over the loud speaker by the karaoke setup, announcing, “You know what time it is, folks. If I could please have everyone look under their tables for a sticker…” the announcer gave the crowd a second and people around them followed instructions. “Here at Crazy Matt’s every Friday at 8 we do a nice little ice breaker. Hold your stickers high if you’re one of the five lucky tables.”

Y/N sat perfectly still and Hank felt a sense of dread but also…some excitement. You kept looking a little lusty toward him. A waitress was coming by each sticker table and dropping off some salt and limes and vodka…

Oh, shit…

“Don’t be shy, Y/N,” a voice called. Matt, the owner, walked over. “Soon as I saw your _friend_ here sit down, I knew it was gonna be a show…come _on_ , partake. Live a little. On the house.”

“Y/N?” Hank asked tentatively. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Body shots,” Matt answered instantly. “Every Friday at 8, we treat our guests – if they sit at the right table. Little ice breaker, some free shots, good company…” he eyed Y/N. “I’ll gladly take your place if you’re…”

“No,” Hank found himself answering instantly, to your surprise. The thought of him licking salt off your body, drinking a shot off your skin…Hank had enough of this jealousy bullshit but he was not going to sit idly by.

Matt raised his hands up, nodded, walked away as the waitress dropped the supplies off.

“Hank, you don’t have to…”

“Nah,” he waved it off. “I…why the fuck not? Live a little, right?” he quoted that asshole, was for _sure_ pretty far gone to be agreeing to this, his heart pounding harshly in his chest.

The announcer talked them through the steps as the waitresses cleared off the tables. When was the last fuckin’ time he’d done somethin’ like this?

You looked tentative as the waitress took your hand, helping you up on the table. Hank looked at you, gazed at your body as you laid back, tried to keep his mind focused on something else and not how you looked sprawled out in front of him. The alcohol let his mind wander. And then your hand halted the waitress and Hank’s mind cleared.

“Y/N?” he asked.

“Hank, you are _not_ drinking a shot out of my bellybutton,” you laughed, glancing around at the other customers doing just that. He didn’t know how to respond so he just stood there looking stupid, _feeling_ stupid for agreeing to this if you were just gonna back out. Fuck, he put himself out there just for you to turn his ass down… You grabbed the salt shaker and looked up at him. “Well? How do you think that salt’s gonna stick, Lieutenant?”

It took him a second to register, but he nodded, grabbing the shot glass the waitress brought over. Slowly, he watched you lift your shirt, saw the exposed skin, almost _groaned_. You handed him the salt shaker and watched with eager eyes as he dipped his head down toward you. The sensation of his facial hair registered first and then his soft lips pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your abdomen. You inhaled sharply at the sensation, biting your lower lip.

Your fingers almost forgot to fumble for the plate of limes, but you managed to as soon as he started sprinkling the salt on you and then his mouth was back to lick it off your skin. You moaned against the lime in your mouth, unable to hold back.

Hank smirked a little, stood up, took the shot. As he swallowed, he leaned down to get the lime, his mouth lingering over yours before biting into the thing, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Annnd switch!” came the announcer’s voice before Hank was even done.

He pulled back quickly, stood straight, pulled the lime from his mouth, then helped you back off the table.

“I, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“My turn,” you chuckled, stepping close to him, pressed your hands to his belly.

“I am not showin’ my shit in here,” he stopped the trail of your hands toward the hem of his shirt.

You shrugged. “Suit yourself,” and instead moved your hands to his collar, pulling it down slightly.

Before Hank knew it, he felt your lips on his neck, tracing your tongue over the sensitive skin, nipping a bit.

“Fuck…” he mumbled, completely aroused at that point.

You sprinkled the salt on the spot then inched up to put your mouth back, flat tongue lapping it up. It ended before he wanted it to and his half-lidded gaze watched as you slammed back the shot.

Fuck.

He grabbed the lime, put it in his mouth, felt like a complete _idiot_. When he turned back to you, he felt your hands grip on the back of his head, dipped to meet your lips, stopped himself from grinding his body against yours at this close proximity.

Your lips were on his, no shame, no ghosting like he’d done, full-on around the lime, kiss…

You bit the fruit, pulled it from his mouth, tossed it on the plate at the table, then pulled him back in for another kiss.

Hank felt like the floodgates had opened. Fuck, had he thought about what it would be like to kiss you…

His fingers gripped at your hips, pulled you into him, mistakenly let you feel his erection.

“Hank…” you pulled back from the kiss, traced your hands down his torso.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Your order,” came a voice and, go figure, it was that Matt guy holding their burger and fries. “Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?”

And there it was, perfect timing for you to pull away from him, slap him, call him a pervert for getting _so worked up_ over this…

“Can we get that to go?” you asked Matt and Hank couldn’t help but stare dumbfounded.

“Uh…yeah…I…yeah,” Matt scurried off.

“Too much?” you asked, gnawing at your lower lip.

Hank felt like his jaw was on the floor still. “I mean, this…you…”

“I’m done being in my feelings, Hank, so I’ll be very forward: I want you. This ends one of two ways tonight and both of them I need to leave.”

Hank felt bold for once tonight. “What are the options?” his voice was deeper, laced with flirtation, arousal. He stepped closer to you to hide his erection in case someone was looking.

“Either I go home alone, cold shower, play with myself to get you off my mind…or you take me home, we eat this together, and see where the night takes us.”

Hank never thought he’d leave half-empty drinks at a bar but on this occasion, he gladly raced out with you in tow: dinner in a to-go box, whiskey half-drunk next to the tip on the table.

So maybe you weren’t lying – you weren’t into Connor after all…


	8. Holiday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request:  
> "Would you be willing to write something cute and comestibles for Hank/reader 👀👀👀"
> 
> This was a bullet-point post so we'll see how it translates here...

  * Hank hates holiday parties. Hates them. So much so that he usually doesn’t show up or he’s drunk by the time it’s getting started.
  * This year though, he’s invited y/n. And to his surprise, you actually said yes.
  * You guys make it a total of ten minutes before you’re playing a drinking game with just the two of you. Maybe it’s wrong of you to be making fun of people from the precinct but it’s pretty much all you two have.
  * It takes about twenty-five minutes before you get the courage to pull him beneath the mistletoe. There’s a gift exchange going on so no one’s really paying attention when the two of you sneak off.
  * Maybe you shouldn’t have picked one of the interrogation rooms, but Hank thinks you’re classier than a bathroom fuck.
  * He’s got his hands on your hips, pressing you against the nearest wall before dropping down to his knees.
  * You’re in a skirt so it’s pretty easy to slide your panties down your thighs, over your boots, help you step out of them so he can pocket them in his jacket.
  * And then your thighs are on his shoulders, back to the wall, as Hank presses his mouth to your pussy.
  * The freggin’ music is so loud in the lobby, he doesn’t want you to be quiet. Clearly, based on how intensely he’s working his mouth.
  * “Want your cum on my beard, baby,” his deep voice hums out to which you nod - though he can’t see you.
  * You normally can’t cum that easily but something about the situation makes this so hot.
  * Hank is up, unbuckling his belt and fidgeting with his pants before you’ve completely come down from your orgasm.
  * Your feet planted back on solid ground, you wobble a little bit but Hank catches you, rights you, eases you over to the table nearby.
  * “Bend over,” he demands and by now he’s pulling out his hard cock.
  * You gulp a little bit at the _size of him_ , interested in sucking him off right there, but he has other plans. It’s almost like he can see your gears turning, can anticipate your next move.
  * He shifts his left hand to the back of your neck, turns you, shoves his forearm against your back so you’re bent at the hips.
  * Catching yourself on the table, you press your hips back toward him, ass on display which he fully enjoys. Two stokes of his cock and he’s slipping into your wet pussy.
  * The _pace_ at which he’s pounding into you is ungodly. He’s got one hand draped in front of you, bracing against the table so he can twitch his thick fingers on your clit. The other hand is gripping your hip.
  * Anyone could walk in, the door’s unlocked, and this knowledge sends you right to the edge of another orgasm.
  * “Hank,” you whine. “M’gonna cum.”
  * A deep chuckle leaves him. “Good girl. Can’t wait to feel you pulsing around me.” He adds, “squeezing me like this...” and groans deeply when you buck against him.
  * The pressure on your clit increases and you topple over the edge of another orgasm, panting out his name.
  * Hank follows soon, bottoming out with a yelp and then he’s huffing against your back, trailing kisses until he’s finished.
  * Having Hank’s cum dripping down your leg as you re-enter the holiday party was _not_ part of tonight’s plan but, boy, do you enjoy the look he shoots you when you swipe it from your leg and lick it off your finger.




	9. Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request:  
> "You posted something about hank x reader stuff. Maybe something about he’s crushing on a detective. Ones who’s also grumpy and kinda jaded. She is in her late 30s and he still feels like he’s too old for her. Maybe he talks to Connor, doubting he’s going to help but actually gives good input."
> 
> Another short, bullet-point post because I'm lazy.

  * Hank never bought into those stupid romance movies. There’s no fuckin’ way that someone just _waltzes_ into your life and you’re falling in an instant.
  * And then you walked into the precinct and _bam_ he wasn’t the same. Granted, it took a few months of having you around until he knew he could trust you, until you proved yourself at work.
  * He isn’t one to brag, but you _laugh at his jokes_ \- they’re all cynical but that’s what you like too.
  * You’re a bitch, quite frankly. You’re not the nicest, you spout off, you’ve got a temper...but from what you’ve hinted at to Connor, your life hasn’t always been easy. 
  * And then you three went to the pub one night and that was the worst fuckin’ decision because you’re not wearing work clothes and your ripped jeans show a little more skin than he’s used to seeing and your hair looks different and you _smell great_ and - fuck - he’s three drinks in before he wants to pull you across the table and kiss you.
  * “Lieutenant Anderson, you seem distracted,” Connor mentions when you’ve left them for the bathroom, promising another round upon your return.
  * “Ah, shuddup...” he drinks the rest of his beer, holds his head. “Fuck, Connor...I...” he shakes his head, can’t believe he’s about to say this. “I need your input.”
  * Connor looks eager to help and that just makes this whole thing more uncomfortable to Hank.
  * “I...think I like...y/n...” he admits. “But I can’t! She’s so _young_. I mean, she’s still in her 30s, she’s still got a chance to...I dunno...have kids or somethin’. She wouldn’t be interested in an old fuck like me.”
  * Connor processes this for a few moments. “I think you and y/n would make a really nice couple.”
  * Hank rolls his eyes, groaning, “Yeah? Right.”
  * “Yes. Her heartrate is always elevated when she’s around you. She’s turned down three invites to go to the bar with other coworkers, but she said yes to you tonight without hesitation.”
  * Hank sits there, mouth dropped open. “It’s creepy when you do that,” he scolds. “But...comforting,” he hangs his head. “I _can’t_ be shot down, Connor. After everything, I need something _good_ this year.”
  * “Meet her at the bar. She’s waiting there now. Ask her.”
  * Fuck, of all the assholes he’s stuck with it has to be fuckin’ Connor with his fuckin’ _ideas_...
  * Before he knows it, he’s standing near you, hums your name, urges you away from the crowd.
  * And he asks you out, stumbling over words like a teenager, feeling heated and embarrassed, about to tell you _forget it_.
  * “I’d really like that, Hank.”
  * “Can I...maybe...kiss you?”
  * You shoot him a sweet smile before pulling him in.
  * Fuckin’ Connor, always being right...




	10. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request:  
> "Hank x reader where reader works in the precinct and are dating. They get seriously injured and Hank is terrified that they won't make it. He waits in the hospital with them until they wake up. Angsty and fluffy!"
> 
> Another short, bullet-point post.
> 
> I've posted all of these in one night, but these requests have come in over the last year so maybe we'll see more updates. Any requests, I'd be glad to take a stab at it!

  * “This better be fuckin’ good,” Hank sounds harsher than he intends when he answers the phone, but he’s in the middle of a mountain of paperwork and he’s just trying to get done so he can leave on time for his date with y/n.
  * It’s Connor on the other line and he’s frantically rambling off an address, a hospital name, alerting Hank that he’s in the ambulance with y/n.
  * “It’s pretty bad, Lieutenant. You should get here right away.”
  * He hasn’t driven that fast in ages.
  * There’s confusion at the front desk and Hank is losing his shit, screaming, slamming his hands down on the desk.
  * “I just need some fuckin’ answers!”
  * His screaming alerts Connor down the hall and the android is quick to settle the situation, pull Hank toward the waiting area.
  * Apparently the two of you were out together when two perps got the jump on you. Shots were fired and one of the bullets hit a major artery. Hank can’t really comprehend the rest.
  * It feels like the floor is falling beneath him. Connor urges him to a chair, stays with him for a few minutes before going to get him some coffee.
  * The coffee goes cold as Hank thinks of all the ways you’d almost lost each other. You’d only been dating for six months, but the job had been Hell lately. He’d wanted you to quit.
  * “Fuck, why haven’t we heard anything?” it’s been an hour, but it feels like ten. Connor has been urging Hank to settle down, but he keeps pacing the halls.
  * Finally, a doctor comes out for you. He explains the extent of what they did, what follow-up is needed, but Hank isn’t listening. As soon as he hears that you’re okay, his ears start ringing and he feels a wave of nausea overcome him.
  * When Hank comes in, he realizes how much he hates hospitals, how stark white the walls are, how stuffy everything feels.
  * You’re bandaged up a bit, looking sore and exhausted, he can see the haze of pain in your eyes.
  * “Oh, thank God…” he pulls a chair to your bedside, grabs your hand.
  * “You been waiting long?” you try to make a joke.
  * “Only my whole life,” he hums, kissing the back of your hand. “Glad you’re okay, sweetheart. Guess our date’s gonna have to wait.”




End file.
